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My reaction does have the immediate impact of bringing Rhys’ attention back to me as he shamelessly watches me walk up to him, an annoyingly smug look on his face.
In this unofficial game of chess we’re playing, he just took a center pawn.
Once I’m standing behind the blonde – Tallulah, I think her name is – I tap her on the shoulder.
“I need to talk to Mackley. Get lost, please.” I tell her when she turns around, ignoring the shit-eating grin that appears on Rhys’ face at my words.
“What– You can’t talk to me that way!” She replies, incensed.
“Get lost.”
This time the words come from Rhys. He doesn’t spare her a glance as he says them, his eyes tearing me apart instead.
At least I was nicer.
I said please.
She splutters something unintelligible and eventually walks away, leaving Rhys and I standing in front of each other in a silent stalemate.
When I don’t speak, he makes the first move.
“Well?” He asks, cocking a brow.
“We haven’t talked about tomorrow’s practice.” I blurt out. “You said we would tonight.”
“That’s what you want to talk about?”
“Yes.”
He nods slowly, his expression blank, but I can tell he’s unimpressed. He’s about to walk away, probably to go find Tallulah wherever she’s slunk off to.
“Afternoon workout tomorrow. Five pm, same field.” He says indifferently, setting his cup down on the counter and standing to his full height. “I’ll see you then.”
He walks past me but something claws inside me. I’m not ready for this to be over.
My hand shoots out and grabs his arm, keeping him from going too far. His gaze falls to where I’m wrapped around him before slowly moving up to meet my eyes.
I open my mouth a couple of times, searching for the correct words.
“You were laying it on thick back there.”
It’s out of my mouth before I can second guess it.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t need to,” I say, “You know what you were doing.”
That has him turning back towards me. “Tell me,” He says, his tone contemplative, “What does jealousy taste like?”
I drop his arm like it burns me.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I reply, taunting him.
His voice drops an entire octave when he grunts out his answer, “Bitter.”
I’m taken aback by his honesty, but a part of me sings at his admission.
‘Bitter’ explains the sharp taste in my mouth and the roiling in my stomach, now also joined by fluttering butterflies.
